My Boy Jack Page #3

Issues?

I'm choosing a regiment,

that sort of thing.

They're from the Royal Sussex.

They fought at wipers.

It's probably their first leave.

I've just delivered something for you.

Oh, yes. Thank you, Dadda.

You march up to one

of your powerful pals...

That's enough...

...who's on the point of conking out.

Leave it, Bird.

- No, I won't.

Mother, did you know about this?

- No, I didn't.

Why is he suddenly fit to fight?

I'm in the room, I'm not a cripple.

- We are at war, criteria change.

Rubbish. He can't see five yards

without his specs.

What was the point

of those examinations?

Totally humiliating.

And they all said the same thing,

it's too dangerous.

Well, frankly, Father,

it will be your fault if Jack is killed.

Get out.

You should have told me, Rud.

Neither of you understand

what is at stake.

Yes, we do.

- I don't think so.

What this country has achieved

over the last 150 years is unique.

We have built up,

painstakingly built up

a family of nations.

Oh, please, Father...

- will you listen to me.

A family of nations,

and Britain, as parents,

mother and father,

has an absolute duty

to protect its children.

You're protecting

the wrong family, Father.

I'm sorry the war Office

couldn't come up with something,

but I'm sure you did your best.

Mother.

Congratulations, Jack.

Now, you and I must sit down...

...and make a list

of what you're going to need.

Go on.

OFFICER:
Right. Left, right.

About turn.

I can't bear it.

But we've always had Guernseys.

- Not any more, Bird.

If we're going to produce food for

the troops, we have to do it properly.

We'll keep one small herd

of shorthorns for beef,

otherwise the whole estate

will be turned over to root crops.

Right.

And what can we do to help, Hobdon?

- Start digging, Miss Kipling.

Come on, you f***ing new chap.

You're supposed to stab that, Kipling,

not tickle it to death.

Is that all you've got?

Come on.

Quickly.

This is no time

for personal grooming, Kipling.

Get your scrawny arse back in line.

Come on.

Come along, Mrs Clarke,

best foot forward.

Up and to your left.

Mrs wilson, up and to your right now.

Miss Kipling, up and to your left.

Mrs Kipling, up to your right.

Thank you.

80% of British shells were

defective or duds.

Our guns were so outdated and worn out...

...that our shells fell short

of the German lines,

killing our own wounded

lying in no man's land.

The few British troops

to survive the battle...

...ran back towards safety,

taking with them

a number of German prisoners.

Our troops believed it to be

an enemy counterattack and opened fire,

killing all but a handful

of our own men.

Come on, Kipling,

you can do better than that.

Thank you for this, O'Leary.

- Not at all, sir.

O'LEARY:
Seventy-two, sir.

Better, sir. Eighty-one.

Come here.

- It's my turn to read.

No, it certainly is not.

'Dear old things, plus Bird,

as you can see from the enclosed photo,

'I am no longer

a mewling, squawking cadet,

'but a fully fledged,

highly commissioned officer.'

Let me see.

'You are looking

at Second Lieutenant John Kipling.'

Show me.

Doesn't he look fine?

'Corporal O'Leary has prodded me...

...and pushed me and

knocked me into shape.

'He tells me

I am now ready to command men.

'Raw recruits arrive from Dublin

any day now.

'Twenty of them will be my platoon.

'It's my job to turn them

into hard-bitten professional soldiers.

'I am more windy about meeting them

than about going over the top.'

Sir, 5 Platoon is waiting outside, sir.

Officer.

On your feet, yous lazy bastards.

Up.

I am Lieutenant Kipling.

I am your Platoon Commander.

Together we are 5 Platoon, 2 Company,

2nd Battalion Irish Guards.

Before you start your training,

I want to ask you all a question.

It's very simple.

Why did you join the army?

You?

- Me, sir?

To see the world, sir.

King and country, sir.

Money.

Safer for me to fight the Germans...

...than be at home in Dublin

just at the minute,

if you know what I mean, sir.

The thing is, whatever your reasons,

you all volunteered,

no one forced you to be here.

And in a week's time,

when you want to shoot me in the head,

I'd like you to remember that.

But I promise you one thing,

I won't ask you to do anything

I wouldn't do myself.

O'LEARY:
28, 29,

What's the matter, Daley? Are you tired?

Would you like a nice cup of tea?

Thirty-three.

Come on, you shower-lad shites.

Thirty-four.

Are you all totally bloody useless?

Thirty-five.

Thirty-six.

Thirty-seven.

Thirty-eight.

Thirty-nine.

Forty.

I think you should stop now, sir.

You're embarrassing these ladies.

On your feet.

O'LEARY:
Attention.

Commence firing.

Cease firing.

Guardsman Daley, 52.

Guardsman Doyle, 48.

Guardsman Bowe, 58.

Guardsman McHugh, 77.

Lieutenant Kipling,

I would like to tell you

how the rhino got his skin.

I am the Parsee Pestonjee Bomonjee,

sitting in my palm tree,

and you are all rhinoceri.

Which is what happens

when there is more than one rhinoceros.

And you have all come down for a bathe

on the shores of the Red Sea.

But to do that

you must remove your skins.

Unbutton your skins, please.

Sit on your skins, please.

Now,

let me return you to the beginning.

Once upon a time, on an...

Ah, Lieutenant Kipling.

Down on the floor, please.

Remove your skin.

And sit upon it.

Hello, Peter.

Once upon a time,

on an uninhabited island,

there lived a Parsee...

...from whose hat

the rays of the sun were reflected...

...in more than oriental splendour.

What do you think

of the moustache, Mother?

You look older.

Is that a good thing?

- Of course it is.

I may be biased, but I like it.

You look very...

...dashing.

He does. You look very handsome.

He looks very smug to me.

You've got a secret.

What is it?

The Battalion sails next week.

I'm going to France.

But why now? Couldn't they

have given you any warning?

Well, we knew it was coming.

But it's so sudden.

- That's good news, old man.

The waiting's over.

So this is your last weekend?

- Yes.

Here's to you, old man.

You must be awful excited.

I am.

- I wish I could be in your shoes now.

Take one of mine, Dad.

Thank you.

Mind you, I must give up.

It does the inside cupboards

no good at all.

Have they told you where you're going?

Not officially.

But we know how much hangs on it.

I shouldn't tell you this,

but the Great Advance kicks off

on August 17th.

Your birthday.

- Exactly.

General Haking says

it'll be the greatest battle...

...in the history of the world.

Right.

It's possible we may leave

a few days before my birthday.

I wondered

if you'd write a letter to the regiment...

...to give me permission

to go over before I'm 18.

'The greatest battle

in the history of the world.'

Oh, I don't want to miss it.

I want to be in the thick of it.

Of course you do.

Who am I writing to?

I have got some important things

to give you.

First and foremost, a bar of chocolate.

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